The woman babbled to him in Russian and Arthur’s blood ran cold, head craning as he reassessed the room.
“Dufault, update.”
“Send medevac.” He hushed her, careful not to touch her as he did, soft reassurances of safety delivered in her native tongue. He barely registered his handler ordering evac on the other end of the comms as he turned towards the sounds of shuffling bodies, muffled sobs slowly growing in number.
“For the hostages?”
He stepped back around the table, counting. “For twenty.”
“What?”
“This is a human trafficking ring.”
Fourteen
Arthur had remained on the line until the medical evacuation team had arrived, then overseen clean up into the early morning hours, confirmed his return flight, and gone dark, all with long stretches of silence in between. Syler found that he didn’t blame him. Viewing it through the security cameras as the victims were evacuated had been grim, the handful of bodies more than enough to set his stomach roiling, and the nausea lingering long after he’d confirmed Dufault had checked into the airport. Even once Syler had finally gone to bed for the night, he’d found his mind going back to the mission, turning it over and over, unable to sleep.
Twenty women, including the two missing university students, one of whom had not survived. Not just drug trafficking after all. Sruoga’s constant pattern of movement took on a new light. Local authorities had been horrified; Vilnius wasn’t known for crime, and especially not violence of this degree. He received Dufault’s after action report early the following morning, sent between airport layovers without further comment, and quickly compiled and signed off on his own, more than ready to focus his attention elsewhere.
He worked diligently through the standard fare of Friday morning meetings, submitted the resulting adjustments to expense reports by early afternoon, then tucked himself away in his office, finalizing modifications to an HK416 assault rifle. The methodical work of retrofitting time-delayed explosive munitions did wonders for distracting him, his mind settled by the low drone of his staffers working just outside the door. It was nearly eight p.m. by the time he resurfaced, swing shift having taken over several hours prior, leaving the department in a quiet lull.
The sharp rap at his door was entirely unexpected, as was the barely restrained storm cloud of a man that saw himself in. The door snicked shut with a controlled click in his wake, at odds with the preternatural fury that seemed to roll off of the agent in waves.
“Agent Dufault,” he noted, briefly wrong footed. “I wasn’t expecting you tonight.” Silence. Syler pressed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose from where they’d slipped while working before trying again. “How can I help you?
“Equipment drop off,” he answered, voice gruff. Christ, he looked like shit. Probably felt it too, if the red tinge around his eyes was anything to go by. Syler suspected he wasn’t the only one who hadn’t slept well the prior night, and he hadn’t been on a plane for it.
“Of course,” he elected not to argue, reaching for the equipment return tray. He was roughly presented with what remained of the agent’s weapons and munitions as well as his ear piece. “Are you alright?” Syler asked tentatively. Arthur’s nostrils flared and he turned to leave without reply.
‘Well, ask a stupid question,’ Syler thought. “I didn’t dismiss you, Dufault.”
Arthur rounded on him so quickly that Syler physically recoiled. “I’m really not good company tonight, Deputy Perrin.” Syler swallowed, immediately inclined to agree and wash his hands of the matter. Dufault was a grown man and a seasoned agent. He’d be fine. Probably.
Still, Syler wasn’t heartless and he was Dufault’s handler besides. That didn’t stop just because the absolute nightmare that was their last assignment was technically over. The man was practically snarling at him, but being bad company himself didn’t mean the other man wouldn’t benefit from someone staying with him. ‘No,’ Syler promised, ‘you’re absolutely not leaving my sight tonight.’
“The caliber of your company is irrelevant. My technician called out tonight and I need help in the ballistics lab. Come along.” He blindly grabbed for the HK416 and headed for the door. Arthur didn’t move. “Unless you have somewhere better to be?” He arched a dark brow back at the blond, well aware that anything the other man could interpret as pity would be met with extreme derision and abject refusal.
“I’m really not—”
“That’s a no then. Come along.” Miraculously, Dufault did. Syler hummed, ready to carry what little conversation there would be tonight—
“Buck up. You like making things explode.”
---
Arthur followed the shorter man silently, brooding. It’d been years since a case had gotten to him like this and while he knew there was nothing more he could’ve done, he couldn’t shake the bone deep anger that had settled into him, all restless energy with no outlet. He also knew nothing good came from agents left alone to stew through the crash of a bad assignment, but the energy required to bury it all in liquor or sex, ideally both, was well beyond him right now.
Fuck, that poor girl. He’d been the one left to ID the body. She’d fought back, for all the good it had done her.
“Dufault.” He glanced up, automatically accepting the proffered hearing and eye protection. His handler swiped them into the ballistics testing range, switching the door code to read ‘occupied’ as he did, before moving to the testing line. This was one of the longer ranges, double reinforced walls, protective glass shielding separating the testing line and the range, containing only a single wide lane to account for potential explosions.
Syler settled into the range master’s chair to the left of the firing lane, flicking the switch to bring the long range targets up near the back wall, and passed him the assault rifle. “HK416 with some added kick. Standard EOTech optic sight, enhanced noise and flash suppressor, and modified magazine chamber for custom ammunition.”
Arthur noted the widened magazine opening. “What does it
